


This is bound to leave a mark

by madandimpossible



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25168759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madandimpossible/pseuds/madandimpossible
Summary: Jester's life has always been vibrant and Caleb discovers just how much color she's painted into his.Prompt:Paint/Soot-Covered Fingers
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58
Collections: Widojest Week 2020





	This is bound to leave a mark

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, so, I admit – I’m on episode 39 of Critical Role. But I love angst. So much. And I decided to stretch my writing muscles and see if I could write a little widojest in honor of widojest week. So, anyway, there won’t be any spoilers unless you’re like really early in the campaign. OKAY. OFF WE GO.
> 
> Title is inspired by a lyric from the song "Loving You" by Seafret which has this line "Even if I could rewrite the history / It's clear to see / That I'd still be / Loving you" and it makes me EMO AS HELL!

Caleb watches with tired eyes as Nott embraces Jester inside the cell that she and Fjord were confined to. His palms smolder with residual heat from the fireball that he launched into the back of Lorenzo’s head. His shoulders sag forward, his bangs drip with sweat, and it’s not until he hears Jester’s voice that he manages to curl his soot-stained fingers and seek her face in the darkness –

The heartbreak that etches itself across her face when they break the news of Molly is enough to tear his heart asunder.

Caleb swallows thickly. He cannot comfort her. He’s _rotten_ at it. Leave it to Nott or Beau. All he can do is offer her the plain, honest truth inside his bandaged hands.

X

Beau mentions that she never has dreams. He tries not to envy her. Inside his own dreams there are flames that lick at his boots, magic that won’t bend to his will, and four stone walls pressing in and threatening to collapse. New nightmares have come to him now. Ones where they do not save Yasha, Fjord, and Jester in time. Ones where he cradles Jester’s head between his soot-stained hands and her blood trickles down his arms and soaks into the front of his shirt.

That is why instead of sleeping he is sitting with his back to a tree trunk, his book on his lap, and his hands moving deliberately through the air.

“Caleb!” Jester’s voice appears beside him.

“Hm?”

“What are you _dooooing_?” She drags the last word out, and he can feel the faint pressure of her shoulder as it presses into his. It is a physical reminder once more that she is here – _alive_. He refocuses his attention on the spell.

“Bringing Frumpkin back.” He glances to her. Jester is beside him, her skirt billowing out around her legs, her body illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of their campfire, the jewels on her fingers and horn catching the light and sparkling. He notices her sketchbook on her lap, the pages laid open like an offering. He quickly averts his gaze.

Jester’s drawings are her own. They are special and sacred to her.

“What’s that one?” Her arm reaches past, fingertip touching a rune that he’s marked on this page. As she lifts her hand away, a fingerprint of pink is left behind. “Oh no!”

Despite it all – he feels his heart flip inside his chest and a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s alright.” He assures her, his thumb touching the paint mark and then swiftly pulling away once he notices the movement. “That one was just practice.”

“Oh, good.” She gives a light, charming laugh that makes his heart flip again. “I was worried that Frumpkin would come back all weird!”

He feels her straighten beside him and then suddenly – Jester’s face is _all_ he sees as she shoves herself into his line of sight, “Caleb! Can you do that? Can you make a cat with like two tails? Or a bunch of legs? Oh! Or what if Frumpkin had like a GIANT snake head with a tiny cat body! That would look _really_ cool and _really_ scary!”

He considers it and the confines of the spell. It’s _difficult_ to think when Jester’s face is inches from his and the fire is sparking embers into the sky behind her head.

“Um.” His face feels strangely warm, “No.”

Jester pouts and lean away, back onto her haunches. Caleb drags his gaze downward, back to his spell book, knowing that he’d need to restart the ritual once more. He catches the movement of Jester out of the corner of his eye and he expects her to walk away now – to return to her bedroll and get some rest before she takes her turn on watch.

Instead, however, he feels Jester prop herself next to him and the telltale scratching of her pencil against her sketchbook.

Caleb pauses before resuming his spell and unable to help himself, he asks – “What are you drawing?”

“Frumpkin with a snake head but he’s wearing like a super cute pirate hat and he’s got like a fancy cloak on with little fishes on it.”

He steals a glance down at her sketchbook, “That’s pretty good.”

Jester turns and beams at him, “Right?!” 

Caleb turns his face away from her, cheeks warm, and another smile trying to break through. He closes his eyes for a moment feeling the cozy, gentle heat of the campfire on his face and the solid, comforting presence of Jester beside him.

His hands glide through the air once more. A flash of pink paint marking the side of his thumb.

X

Jester has always seen the world in vibrant color. The colors became a tapestry of threads that wove together all her experiences and memories.

In the beginning - There is the turquoise of home, the crimson embrace of her Mama, the green cloak of the traveler.

Then came the golden flash of Fjord’s eyes, the cerulean waves of Beau’s robes, the amethyst and maroon expanse of Molly’s magic, the porcelain and ruby of Nott’s mask and the unique multicolored gaze of Yasha – one violet, one aquamarine.

And then – Caleb. His hair was copper and honey, his coat muddy brown, and his eyes reminded Jester of how the sky would turn blue-grey right before the first raindrops of a summer storm. His magic was a bright mixture of amber and glowing red with flashes of blue violet.

When she painted, she would look at her hands and smile at the smudges that coated her fingertips and palms.

Grey on her index finger (for Yasha), a royal purple on the mound of flesh beneath her ring finger and middle finger (for Molly), lemon yellow tucked between her pinkie and ring (for Nott and all her buttons) – Jester blinked at the stripe of orange that stood out across a line on her palm.

“ _I can read palms, too.” Molly said with that smile – filled with friendliness and mischief._

_“You can?!” Jester shoved her hands at him, “Read mine! Read mine!”_

_“Oh, alright.” He took her hand in his, turning it a few times, then traced his finger along the line at the top of her palm, closest to her fingers. “That’s your love line.”_

_Jester wiggled her eyebrows, “Ohhhhh? What does it say!?”_

_Molly narrowed his red eyes – Jester made a mental note that she’d like to paint them in her sketchbook sometime because they were not the same red as her Mama’s skin._

_“You’re a romantic.” He teased, “with a big heart…hmm…” He tapped his finger on her palm, “I’d say you’re likely to have many admirers.”_

_“Psh, yeah of course!” Jester rolled her eyes, “Who wouldn’t have a crush on me?”_

_Molly let her hand go, then looked to the rest of the group who were drinking and conversing among themselves, “Hey, Caleb? What me to read your palms next?”_

_Jester watched as the wizard hid his bandaged hands underneath the table. “No.”_

Jester touched her orange-stained love line. A wistful smile on her face.

She picked up her paintbrush.

X

Caleb’s quill scratches along the fine parchment paper, his hands ink-stained and dirty. It would not take too long to transcribe this spell. Or so he hoped. A lone candle flickered at his desk and the sudden shift of shadows made him pause –

Caleb moved aside a stack of parchment and saw beneath it was a painting of an orange cat. Fatter and rounder than Frumpkin. In the privacy of his own room, he touched the painting – it was dry, of course – Jester must’ve snuck in earlier today. He imagined her sitting at his desk, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, her face pinched in concentration, with her paint brush between her fingers and a small pot of orange paint beside her hand.

He wondered if she painted other things in this room. If she found ways to sneak her artwork into his place as easily as she had snuck into his heart.

Caleb sighed, setting his quill down and looking out the window to his left. The stars shone brightly against the vast, dark abyss of the night sky. _Gottverdammt. You really need to get a handle on yourself, Widogast._

There was a knock at his door – “Ja?”

“Caleb?”

His chest squeezed painfully, “Jester?”

The door creaked as it opened and she popped her head inside, “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

He rose from his desk, carefully wiping his ink-stained fingertips on his pants, “Oh.” He shifted his weight, awkward, unsure _why_ he was even standing. His neck grew hot. Jester just kept looking at him, one hand on the doorframe, her form shrouded in the darkness of the hallway. She blinked at him.

“Goodnight, Jester.” He rubbed the back of his too-warm neck, “Sleep well, Ja?”

Her smile stunned him to speechlessness.

He timidly returned her smile and they stood just a few feet separated and yet the air felt heavy with words unsaid, with his heart beating too-fast inside his chest, and as much as he wanted to drop his gaze from her freckled, joyful face (to hide the truth that he was afraid his eyes were showing) he resisted the urge.

“Goodnight, Caleb.” Jester spoke softly, her smile tender and kind.

He longed to cover the distance between them and hold the side of her face in his palm. To tell her that she is magnificent, and strong (stronger than him, that much is certain), that they are lucky to have her, that she is the heart and strength of the Mighty Nein, and that no matter what path she chooses – he will support her. Because she is his friend.

The door creaks as Jester shuts it and leaves him alone once more.

His eyes drop to the floor. His heart hammering inside his chest. He knows he will never be able to love her as lovers do. So, he will love her as a friend does. He will take her paint-smudged hand when she offers it to him, he will stand beside her when they face hobgoblins and pirates and giant crocodiles, and he will look out for her as best he can.

Caleb walks toward his bag and dutifully counts out some of his coin.

X

Tomorrow, when Jester wakes up, there will be a new set of paint pots outside her door.

And when she asks who did it and no one speaks up – Caduceus will look up from his tea and see the flushed color of Caleb’s ears and smile knowingly.

“It must’ve been the Traveler then, you guys.” Jester says, nodding to herself as she shows off the new paints, her excitement bubbling over as she wiggles in her chair, “He must’ve known that I was getting low!”

Caleb’s soot-covered fingers scratch the top of Frumpkin’s head. And he smiles to himself when he’s sure that no one is looking.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank u so much to the incredible Widojest community on Tumblr/Twitter/Discord. I wouldn't be posting this if not for ya'll. <3


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